


Worthy Opponent

by embersofamber



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Arishok sexings, Drama, Erotica, F/M, Kinda raw, Qunari, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embersofamber/pseuds/embersofamber
Summary: When Hawke clashes with the Arishok, there is no choice in the matter...the Qun must be satisfied.





	Worthy Opponent

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the Livejournal Dragon Age Kink Meme.

** _Worthy Opponent_ **

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Panahedon, human. _”_

 

In memory, the deep, rumbling bass and absolute power in the voice gave her pause the first time she heard it. She remembered having to hide how surprised she was by the enormous muscles and sheer mass of the Arishok. And the horns. She couldn’t discount those. His direct gaze impressed her as much as his monosyllabic answers amused her. 

 

Hawke’s dealings with the Qunari over the years had never been easy, but were always engrossing and informative. The more she spoke with the leader of the Qun, the more she understood his point of view, and found herself increasingly inclined to agree with it. It was refreshing to deal with someone who cut through the bullshit and called it like it was.

 

As a favor to the Viscount, she had begun accompanying Seamus when he visited the compound. There was typically very little for her to do but stand idly by while Seamus engaged in long conversations on religion with one of the Qun. Her companions might think it strange for her to act as bodyguard to the Viscount’s boy if they knew, which was precisely why she chose to come on her own, and spare herself their speculation and comments. 

 

The tragedy of the saar-qamek gas in that dirty back alley had only pushed tensions to a whole new level in Kirkwall, and the pot seemed ready to boil over. As a woman, she presented less threat to the Qunari, and she was more than willing to use that to her advantage. The balance in the city was precarious, at best. Some niggling instinct told her she could only mitigate disaster if she were present when it occurred.

 

Leaning comfortably against a pillar, she drew her dagger and began sharpening it against a small whetstone she always kept with her. Obsessive care of her weapons was as much a part of her as her family name. She had long since learned a dull blade could mean your life when in danger. Her survival at Ostagar was at least partially due to the keenness of her sword.

 

The metal clang of weapons put her on alert, and she sheathed the small dagger and walked across the compound to investigate. She had never ventured very far in, but the area was much larger than she had at first assumed. Several dozen uniform tents stood off to one side, facing a large, open space. Many Qunari stood around watching, and she craned her neck to get a better look. It appeared to be some sort of sparring match, or perhaps a lesson. 

 

She slipped deftly through the last of the hulking giants and was finally able to see clearly. The Arishok, dueling one of their warrior caste, it seemed. That was…a surprise. She crossed her arms and observed the fight critically, watching for faults and flaws. The warrior seemed to be giving all he had, while the Qun leader was clearly holding back. 

 

She had a secret fascination for the Arishok, Maker only knew why. Perhaps it was his unswerving certainty in a world that had none. Unflinching honor and commitment to his sworn path, whatever it was. Without a doubt, the Arishok and his retinue could have long since conquered Kirkwall if they had been of a mind to. The fact that they  _could_ , but did not, impressed Hawke with their restraint.

 

The warrior fighting the Arishok was powerful, no doubt, but his style was rough and lacked skill. She shook her head with a smirk.

 

“He’s wide open,” she murmured. Several of the Qun looked at her. Not twenty seconds later, the large warrior lay on the ground, the Arishok’s axe at his neck. A decisive victory, easily attained. The Qunari leader was a formidable fighter, but his opponent was no master. 

 

The Qun surrounding her all struck their chest with a fist, in what she assumed was a show of respect. The Arishok rested the handle of his axe against his shoulder, and looked at her, his eyes pinning her in place.

 

“Serrah Hawke.” His deep voice filled the air. “Have you come to learn from the Qun and improve your skill in battle?”

 

There was something mocking in his gaze that goaded her into speaking flippantly. “If that is typical of the skill of your warriors, perhaps it is they who should take lessons from me.”

 

His eyes narrowed slightly, considering. “Are you so confident in your own skill? You have no allies present to lend you their strength.” 

 

It felt like a thinly veiled insult, but since none of the Tal’Vashoth she had vanquished lived to praise her martial prowess, she supposed it was understandable. She was not arrogant, but she knew how hard she had worked to attain her level of ability, and the unconventional means she was willing to employ. Based on past experience with the Qunari, this felt too important to back down. She lifted her chin.

 

“I need not borrow another’s strength; mine alone has always been sufficient.”

 

The Arishok gave her a condescending smile, but there was approval in his gaze. “Words without action are meaningless. Would you prove them by dueling my Sten?”

 

Hawke shifted slightly where she stood. She could not deny watching the Arishok fight had stirred her own battle hunger. It had been weeks since she had had a good fight. What harm could come of a little sparring?

 

“What are the terms of the duel?”

 

He stowed his axe in a back sheathe, and gestured one of his men forward. “Fight until one is clearly defeated. This is only a test of skill.” He turned to Sten. “You may not kill her.” 

 

“As you command, Arishok.”

 

Male arrogance was something she had dealt with all her life, and an endless source of amusement to her, not to mention an added benefit in battle. Hawke looked more delicate than she really was. She smirked and raised an eyebrow at the Arishok. 

 

“Your confidence in your warrior is touching. I’ll try not to hurt him…much.” She drew out her great sword, which sparkled with icy enchantment, as Sten stepped forward. The Qunari around her moved back to give her space.

 

Sten nodded brusquely, his eyes cold. “Prepare yourself, bas.” 

 

With a battle cry, he rushed toward her, swinging his massive sword. She dodged to the side and brought the flat of her blade around to smack him on the ass, then swiveled on her feet, on guard again. The goading insult was clear. He looked annoyed, but approached her more cautiously.

 

His second swing landed solidly against her blade, and he used his strength to push roughly against her. Calling on the dragon’s blood within her, she summoned her Reaver power and transferred a portion of his strength to her. He was knocked back onto the ground, her blade slicing into his bicep. Instead of stepping forward to end the battle, she moved back and allowed him to get to his feet. She kept her blade raised, indicating her willingness to continue. Hawke did not see how the Arishok watched her every movement, his arms crossed, an alertness in his gaze.

 

She tried to rush Sten, but it was like trying to fell solid rock. Metal clanged on metal as they traded blow after blow. Again, she relied on her Reaver skills, devouring his health from the blood that poured from his arm. When he staggered, she laughed at the double rush of battle and the power of her enemy coursing through her veins.

 

His final swing was a miscalculation caused by anger, and she whirled just out of the reach of his sword, then brought her blade around, just stopping the strength of her swing before she beheaded him. She did allow the blade to bite far enough into his skin to leave a trickle of blood careening down his throat.

 

“Do you yield?” Her voice was firm.

 

There was a light of respect in Sten’s eyes that had not been there before. “You are a worthy opponent, bas. I yield to you.” The striking of many fists on chests echoed through the compound. She stepped back and sheathed her blade, then turned to the Arishok. 

 

“Well fought, Hawke. Again, you prove you are not like other bas, and your skill has not been exaggerated.” She nodded in acknowledgement, deliberately squashing the small thrill his approval gave her. He extended a hand behind him.

 

“We will take refreshment in my tent. I would speak further with you.”

 

She was a little taken aback by the request, but followed him out of curiosity. The interior of the tent was a surprise. It couldn’t be described as anything but plush. Silken cushions in a riot of colors were scattered about. Rugs in geometric designs covered the floor, and a partition closed off an area she assumed was for sleeping. 

 

There was an area with a low table, with larger cushions for sitting. He lowered himself onto one, and indicated she take one near him. She removed her sheathed blade and lay it next to her before she sat.

 

An elven man brought in a tray with two goblets and a pitcher. There were also several bowls of various types of fruit, and what looked to be some form of bread, drizzled in oil. Their goblets were filled with wine and placed before them, then the elf departed. The Arishok lifted his goblet and gave her a long look.

 

“Never before have I shared wine with a bas, nor had one in my tent. You should be honored, Hawke.”

 

She lifted the goblet to him in salute. “You are the first of the Qun I have accepted wine from. You should be equally honored.” He watched as she took a swallow of her drink and choked in surprise. He smiled slightly and took a large swallow from his own goblet.

 

She coughed convulsively for another moment before she could draw breath enough to speak. “What…” she coughed again and cleared her throat, pointing to the offending cup, “What  _is_ that?” 

 

“It is a spiced wine of Seheron, one favored among the Qun.”

 

The spice still clawed at her throat and spread in ripples from her stomach, outwards. A very potent brew, and apparently an even greater honor for her to be given it to drink. She lifted the cup and inhaled the fragrance. It was fruity, spicy and sweet. Hawke took a more careful sip and felt it slide pleasantly down her throat. It was actually very good after you got past the initial explosion. They both emptied their goblets and had a second. Hawke nibbled on a starchy piece of fruit she had never seen before. The Arishok watched her with his chin in his hand. His expression what could almost be described as brooding.

 

“You surprise me, Hawke. Never did I think to meet a skilled warrior worthy of respect, in the form of a woman.” He gestured with a hand as he continued speaking. “Were you born to the Qun, such would never have been allowed.” He paused for emphasis. 

 

“Yet were you to embrace the Qun now, you would serve only under me, and I would make great use of you. You need not waste yourself on this vashedan place.” His eyes bore into her intently.

 

Her mind went to the dirtiest place as she imagined herself stretched naked beneath him, and she tamped down on the mad laugh that tried to gurgle from her throat. The wine was certainly to blame for her naughty thoughts, as that would probably be the last thing he would ever consider. She damned the lightning bolt of arousal that shot through her at the image, and shifted uncomfortably. 

 

She rubbed the back of her neck and looked at him from the corner of her eye. With a puzzled look, he tilted his head back slightly, inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply again. Baffled by his odd behavior, she turned to observe him fully and tilted her head. 

 

The Arishok opened his eyes with a look of raw fury. Everything in Hawke shrieked danger, and she reached instinctively for her sword. Her head was seized by the hair almost faster then she could blink, and she was dragged into the giant’s lap, her face inches from his. His nostrils flared and the breath he exhaled washed her in a sea of spice and heat. Slowly, as she watched, he lowered his face to her neck, rubbing against her. Her mind was clanging with shock but her body was catching fire.

 

“Do you seek to ensnare me, Hawke? To make me your thrall by releasing such powerful scent?” His voice vibrated against her chest, and she shuddered helplessly, but sought to answer.

 

“I…” A raspy tongue against her throat made gathering coherent thought even more difficult. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I did nothing.” He tugged her hair harder and examined her face carefully to discern the truth, but her eyes were wide and guileless. Understanding dawned on him and he smiled slightly, but something dark moved behind his eyes.

 

“I see. Your body betrays you, for I smell your desire for me to possess you.”

 

Hawke closed her eyes in shame, cursing the moment she followed him to the tent. It would have been wiser to keep her distance considering the attraction she harbored that all others would consider perverse. She struggled to crawl off him and flee, but his arms shifted and tightened, preventing escape. 

 

“I have never had a human; never wanted one until now,” he mused, pulling again at her messy bun until the hair tumbled free. His claws combed through the loosened mass, and she watched him, caught like a fly in a web, wondering what he would do next. He seemed to be debating something, then his face firmed into the decisive expression she recognized.

 

“I will give you a glimpse of what you may have if you should choose the path of Viddathari. For this night, do you submit to me?” His claws scraped carefully against her scalp, and she shivered, hesitating for an instant before nodding her head. She couldn’t force herself to walk away from this one chance to scratch her secret itch. Consequences could be dealt with later.

 

“Yes. I submit.”

 

The Arishok gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. “Very wise. I would not have allowed you to leave in any case.”

 

He took her lips suddenly, kissing her roughly. Her senses were overwhelmed by him, the taste of him in her mouth. Male spice and wine. Different than kissing a human, more sensual-- far better than she could have imagined. She reached up to stroke one of his horns, and he growled, his claws digging into her back. He lifted her off him, and she caught her breath and watched passively as he took off his shoulder armor, now bare from the waist up.

 

“Remove those garments,” he directed, and she moved to comply, unbuckling armor and shedding mail. When all that remained was her tunic and smalls, she was seized again in the implacable grip of his arms. This time he carried her to the hidden area, and she was thrown down onto a bed of furs.

 

He pulled her tunic off, then sliced a claw through her small clothes, ignoring her murmur of protest. This would obviously not be a polite sharing of bodies, but a primal claiming. Hunter and prey.

 

When she was naked, he pushed her flat on her back and roughly opened her thighs. Her heart pounded against her ribs when he sat back and just looked at her. Never had she felt so exposed. He ran his hand up her inner thigh, his claws tickling.

 

“You are much softer than our females, bas.” He touched the triangle of curls, then stroked against her wet sex. “And pleasing to look on, but your scent intoxicates me.” He lifted his hand, his eyes demanding she watch, then licked the wetness from his fingers. Her eyes widened when he growled loudly and moved forward, lifting her hips and plunging his tongue against her sex. 

 

She cried out hoarsely at the rasping scrape of his tongue on her clit. The texture was rough,  almost  like sandpaper, and she tried to wiggle away from the sharp intensity of his assault. He growled again, like the warning of an animal about to attack, and held her in an unbreakable grip. It was too much for her most sensitive part, and she came hard, bucking against him, but he still didn’t stop. She peaked twice more, slave to the exquisite torture on her most secret place.

 

“Oh, Maker! Maker, please! I can’t take more!” 

 

She couldn’t stop her pleading cries any more than she could stop what he was doing to her. When he finally had enough of tasting her, he lowered her hips and sat up to remove his leathers. 

 

She tried to quiet the trembling that had taken her limbs as she watched him strip down to nothing, and felt her brows raise at the thickness of his cock. It was long but not too concerning, but more than twice the thickness of men of her own kind. She felt a small flutter of worry as he loomed over her and stared down. He was hot and pulsing against her entrance.

 

“Your Maker is not here, Hawke. You would do well to direct your pleas to me.” 

 

He plunged forward, tunneling inexorably inward and possessing her completely. She clutched his shoulders and moaned while he muttered something guttural in Qun, before switching back to her language.

 

“I have never had one so tight.” The Arishok hummed appreciatively.

 

He slid an arm around her back and his other hand gripped her ass, tilting her hips slightly. He began thrusting at a quick pace, and she dug her heels into his back, unable to do anything but receive him. Hawke was caught somewhere between pleasure and pain when he first entered her, but as her body adjusted, shocks of delight soon washed away any memory of pain. His thick length forced her body into an explosive release. She spasmed around him, and felt a prickling discomfort on her shoulder as he bit into the muscle there, marking her. 

 

He spoke more Qun, and Hawke wondered if it was some sort of prayer, or the Qunari version of dirty talk. She hoped for the latter, but was kept from more musing by the quivering eruption inside her, pushing her into another desperate climax. 

 

The Arishok’s hips finally stilled, and they both lay panting for breath. He rolled her atop him, and she sprawled across his chest, utterly spent. He flexed his hips slightly and she realized he was still thick and hard inside her. Hawke looked up questioningly, amused to see the Arishok rubbing a lock of her hair across his mouth.

 

“Did you not…finish?” She felt a little strange asking, but she was in uncharted territory and completely ignorant. He looked amused by her question.

 

“Finish? I assume that means one of your kind would?” She nodded, and he actually smiled. “No, Qunari do not join so briefly. Consider what has passed between us as the first word of a long conversation.” She blinked owlishly and he pursed his lips, considering.

 

“I know humans do not possess the stamina of one of the Qun. I will allow you to rest for a time, if you require it.” She snorted and lay her face back down against his powerful chest.

 

“You are too kind.” She had nearly dozed off to the soothing feel of him stroking her hair, but his bassy voice against her ear brought her fully awake again.

 

“Have you not mated because there are none worthy of you in this place?”

 

She smiled lazily, running her fingers across his muscled arm. “I think what we just did qualifies as mating.”

 

“No. I did not plant seed in your womb.” Hawke looked up, startled she had not considered the possibility before now, but he continued. “I can give no child to a bas, not even to a Basalit-an. Although…” His look was considering. “You would bare me strong warriors were you to become Viddathari.” 

 

She laughed nervously. “I’ve, um, never had the desire to be a mother. I don’t think it would fit with the kind of life I lead. I can’t see myself fighting dragons, then running home to care for an infant.”

 

The Arishok shook his head. “As one of my warriors, Hawke, it would not be your role to raise young, only to bare them if I honored you as my consort.” 

 

“I…see.” Swallowing against a dry throat, she closed her eyes, saddened any parent would be forced to give up their child for another to raise. Even one of the Qun. It was too close to the fear her mother had always suffered over Bethany. She had absolutely no intention of signing up to be a consort to anyone, but kept such thoughts to herself. He flexed his erection inside her, and she gasped, her thoughts scattering.

 

“I believe you are sufficiently rested. Let us continue our discussion.”

 

He pushed her upright, and she braced her hands on his chest. He grasped her hips, guiding her into riding him with a slow rhythm, his eyes devouring her bouncing atop him. The Arishok tolerated her lazy movements for a time, but in the end, he threw her to her hands and knees and pounded into her until they both came. 

 

The  _discussion_ lasted the entire night. He allowed her short periods of rest, then proceeded to wear her out again. As Hawke drifted off into another brief, exhausted sleep, she wondered if battle with the Arishok and sex with the Arishok might not be considered one and the same.

 

* * *

 

Hawke staggered up the last of the long stairwell leading from the docks up to Lowtown, and leaned against the cool stone wall to catch her breath. Each step was a quivering victory over spent and bruised muscles, the raw ache between her legs throbbing in time to her heart. Who knew the demands of the Qun would be so difficult to satisfy? She snorted a laugh and rounded the corner to the Hanged Man, surprised to see Anders and Varric standing outside in the pre-dawn light. 

 

“What the hell, Hawke?” Varric’s voice was relieved, but the small furrow between his brows betrayed his concern. “We’ve been looking for you all night. Nobody had seen you as of yesterday afternoon.”

 

Hawke sighed wearily. She knew she would be missed, but she didn’t expect a search party so soon, for Maker’s sake. How to explain this one?

 

“I ran into some difficulty and was detained overnight, Varric, but I’m fine now. No harm done.” She tried to smile reassuringly so she could get home and pass out in her bed, but nothing was ever allowed to be easy. Anders pointed a finger at her.

 

“There was harm done. You can’t lie to me, I can see you’re injured. Come up to Varric’s room so I can have a look at you properly.” Anders took her arm gently to steer her to the door of the tavern, shaking his head against her protests that she was perfectly fine.

 

“Please Hawke.” His eyes burned into her with worry, and the lingering effects of a night filled with fear as he imagined her death in a hundred horrible ways. He clearly needed reassurance, so she relented and allowed herself to be herded inside.

 

Fenris jumped to his feet when they entered, abandoning whatever drink he had been nursing. If Hawke hadn’t been so tired and sore, she might have laughed at the strange procession they made: the glowering elf, the worried healer and the exasperated dwarf.

 

Anders started unbuckling her breastplate even before the door was fully closed, and Hawke went through the motions of removing her armor. Only when her chest armor was set aside and she saw Anders grim expression did she stop to wonder what she might look like. He turned to Varric and Fenris, insisting they step out while he examined her.

 

Varric shrugged and turned to go, but Fenris was staring intently at her shoulder, the shoulder with the bite mark.  _Shit._ He finally turned to leave, but the look he gave her was a curious blend of shock and anger, which she was ill equipped to interpret.

 

“Come and lay down, Hawke. Maker, you’re covered in bruises and scratches. What…” He trailed off when he caught sight of the teeth marks on her shoulder, and she looked away, blushing. He was quiet. She darted a glance and was surprised to see anger and extreme sorrow in his eyes.

 

“Are you-- do you want to talk about it?” He asked quietly, his hand giving hers a gentle squeeze, when she realized his assumptions gave her the perfect out. She held his hand and looked him straight in the eye.

 

“Thank you, Anders, but no. I will never want to talk about what happened last night, and I would appreciate if you spread the word.” His brown eyes continued to reflect pain, but he nodded and set himself to the business of healing her. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Hawke was putting her armor back on for the journey to Hightown when Fenris walked up to her hesitantly. 

 

“Hawke,” he began, a question in his usually assured voice. She turned to him with raised brows, waiting for him to go on. He glanced around to be sure they were alone, then leaned in closer and spoke more quietly than before.

 

“That is a Qunari bite, Hawke. I…you were…willing?” 

 

She realized she couldn’t bluff her way out of it with Fenris, he knew too much of Qunari ways, so she gave a single nod in answer. His gaze was troubled before it cleared and he nodded back.

 

“I will say nothing to the others-- just, be careful, Hawke.” 

 

Their walk back to Hightown was full of heavy silence.

 

* * *

 

_Weeks Later_

 

Hawke rubbed her temples tiredly, and looked at the Arishok.

 

“Take the thief and your holy relic then, and just go.”

 

“What?!” Isabela said in outrage. “Hawke, you bitch! I came back to help and this is how you repay me?”

 

Hawke whirled on her in fury. “How dare you take the tone of the victim when all this is your doing?” Her hand swept the room where the Viscount’s head still lay as a macabre sentry. “All your lies, Isabela. If you had trusted me, we might have found a way to avoid this outcome, but you didn’t. I’m sorry, but you have to face the consequences of the choices you have made, as must we all.”

 

Two large Qunari hauled away the swearing and struggling pirate, and the Arishok walked closer to Hawke, his arms crossed over his massive chest-- a chest she had licked.  _Oh Maker._

 

“Very wise, Hawke,” he rumbled in his powerful bass voice that seemed to remind her of all the places he had touched her, deep inside. His eyes measured her a moment longer. 

 

“We will go, for now, but this is not over between us, Hawke. We will return.” He stepped closer and dropped his voice. “ _I_ will return.”

 

He signaled for the Qun to depart, and they marched out in rows. He turned to pin her with his eyes a final time, and they held both threat and a promise.

 

“I will be watching you, Hawke.” He turned and walked out, his stride measured, with purpose.

 

She released the breath she had been holding and reached to touch the scar on her shoulder where she imagined she felt a phantom throbbing. Hawke didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

 

* * *

 


End file.
